


Strange Women Lying In… Rivers, Actually This System Of Government Has A Shot

by Readertee



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Gen, Major Character Spoilers, Prompt Fic, Spoilers for The Hanging Tree, The Faceless Man shows up and his real name will be known is what I'm getting at here, Tumblr Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readertee/pseuds/Readertee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from tumblr where [character] gets handed Excalibur by the Lady of the Lake, and the thread basically ended up as "...this is Peter Grant right? Only with one of the Rivers?" So I wrote it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sixthlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixthlight/gifts).



Beverley’s little sister is an absolute devil spawn.

I was walking Toby along by the Thames, as you do, when Nicky came up to me from the river, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and handed me a package which really ought to have been more damp than it was, considering. “Here you go!” she chirped, looking like butter wouldn’t melt, “Fix it!” and before I could ask  _fix what_? she’d turned and ran, giggling, to dive back into the water.

I inspected the package. It had strange Vestigia on it, like petrichor and swords clashing with the faintest hint of heavy cloth and a soaring feeling, and a lot of it too; Toby was yapping like it was the end of the world and he had to get his lifetime’s worth of yaps in before it was all over. I decided to wait and show Nightingale before opening it, just in case.

Waiting to see what Nightingale thought didn’t help much, as it turned out; he was just as mystified as I was. He could tell whatever it was was powerful, but not much more, and that we needed to go to the library so we could find books about powerful magical artifacts. That done, there was nothing for it. I opened the package - And was promptly half-blinded by the light pouring from the contents, which apparently can happen with strong enough Vestigia. Thanks for the warning guv.

Once I blinked the spots from my eyes I found that the package contained an old, rather battered sword in its scabbard, nothing to write home about to non-magical sight, but very sharp. This was a sword, you felt, that would be ignored by any dragon but could butcher people very efficiently. A little voice in the back of my mind declaimed “Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government” and a dreadful, foreboding suspicion dawned. The look on Nightingale’s face only confirmed it; and after all how many powerful magical swords associated with water could there be?

“She’s not even from the right river system! This thing ought to be in the sodding River Brue, how did she get her mitts on it?” I demanded, but it was no use. _Fuck my life_  I thought.  _I own Excalibur and nobody has any problem with this? I’m not even Welsh_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got round to posting over from tumblr, yay! Here's some notes for the curious:
> 
> The River Brue, near Glastonbury, is one of the main contenders for the Lake of Arthurian legend - the area is very boggy and was largely drained and channeled into a river by monks in the 12th century to allow for farming.
> 
> The "strong Vestigia causes visual effects" idea came partly from the fact that it's a human's strongest sense, so strong Vestigia ought to trigger it as well as other less relied-on senses like smell, and partly from a fic I read a while ago by ConeyCat, part of the Housemates series. There was a Loki just post-Thor being housemates with the cast of Being Human and having a redemption arc. Read it, it's good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightingale tries to help.

Nightingale wasn't much help.

He didn't seem to know what to do, and settled for giving me a lecture on Arthurian legend in general and Excalibur in specific, which while interesting to mythology students was full of so many maybes and contradictions it was functionally useless.

"It might or might not be the same sword as the Sword in the Stone, which proved his right to lead the British - which at this point really means the Welsh, and possibly the Cornish and the Bretons of France, against the Saxon invaders who became the English -" I knew some of that already, but the bit about France was news. More European than people thought, then, especially given how Nightingale was now comparing various Latin, French and German translators and waxing slightly lyrical over Sir Palamedes the Saracen and the Questing Beast; I tuned out a bit wondering how the Daily Mail types would react to all this, and the current situation. Many, many heart attacks and aneurysms, probably.

"- and of course the scholarly consensus is that if Arthur existed - and the Folly masters were confident he did, although how much of that was Lord Tennyson's influence and the hope that someone like Merlin was real I couldn't say - he wasn't technically a King, he was Dux Bellorum. A military leader, hence the Knights. So you don't need to worry about being King of Britain or anything of the sort." I was slightly relieved, since I had been worrying about that part. Just a tad. Though I wasn't keen on being a soldier either, frankly. But the mention of Merlin brought up a more important matter.

"So if I'm the Arthur in this situation, does that make you Merlin?" Nightingale gave me his very best unimpressed look, honed over many hours of my terrible Latin conjugation.

"No, really, you're the wise mentor who's great at magic and helps me figure out what I'm doing, it totally fits!"

"And being mysteriously unaging has nothing to do with it, I suppose?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that, but now you mention-"

I got the rain cloud spell for that, and the superior expression that heralds going into sewers in white Burberry to make a point.

"Make yourself useful; go and find out what the Rivers are thinking with this stunt."

I was pretty sure it was just Nicky being a brat, but I went to Beverley anyway. Maybe she would show some sympathy.


	3. Chapter 3

Beverley laughed at me.

I texted her first, so I knew she'd be at home in her semi; specifically she was at the bottom of the garden, sitting underneath the willow tree and dabbling her feet in the pool her river forms there. She was reading a textbook on how industry affects river ecology and making snarky notes in the margins.

"Well" she said once she got the laughter under control, "I haven't heard anything about it, so this is probably just Nicky. Can't turn around for five minutes without her wandering off to make strange friends or pulling a prank." I knew that - Sky the tree spirit had been the most memorable of her friends, if only for the events around Skygarden. I ventured the opinion that in this case maybe one of the Rivers should give Excalibur back to the Brue with my apologies for claiming it.

"Oh no," said Beverley, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat that got the bird, the mouse and the cream in one go, "You've been handed the sword by a River and you accepted the gift. There's certain obligations involved now - you've got to use it for the good of the land and its people, and you've got to give it back when you're done. The question is, what do you plan to do now you've got the thing?"

I had an idea, and she agreed that this was within the terms of the obligation if you stretched them a bit "but really there's no such thing as the spirit of the law with these things, as long as he doesn't actually get it you'll be fine."

I sighed and got my phone out to get Nightingale to arrange a meeting at Belgravia. Guleed was going to hate me. So was Seawoll, but then there was never anything much I could do to influence that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really really sorry this took so long guys. After I left it for a while I decided to wait until THT came out, and then that took it in an entirely new direction. On the plus side, I know where it's going now and should only take a couple more chapters?


	4. Chapter 4

Guleed was indeed not happy.

"So what you're telling me," she said in tones so icy she could have refrozen the Arctic ice sheets with the proper focus, "is that you have this wonderful, mythical sword and you want to risk Martin fucking Chorley getting his hands on it?"

"I have the scabbard too" I said, and when this plummeted the temperature even further hastily added in one rush of breath, "but he won't get his hands on either, because it's more along the lines of what you might not putting too fine a point on it and taking one thing with another call bait."

"So only half as risky then. Because your plans always go as intended."

I valiantly ignored the vile slander implied by her tone. "Yep. I was thinking maybe make the right noises in the circles he's likely to hear from, make him think it's not coming from us, set up a meeting with the sock puppet to sell him the sword, grab him when he shows up."

"…It's not the worst idea you've ever had." Seawoll, clinging to a cup of coffee dispensed by the dreaded caffeine-sludge machine down the hall, looked like he might explode from his suggestion that this was somehow not comparable to the ambulance incident, or the Harrods incident, or frankly anything I'd done since I joined the Folly. I probably know the oversight procedures inside out by this point.

"On a scale from one to taunting Caerbannog wildlife it rates perhaps a five" noted Nightingale, from across the room. He immediately adopted an expression of innocent who-me-I-don't-know-this-pop-culture-of-which-you-speak, but I was on to him. I sarcastically muttered something about skinny grenades and was elbowed sharply by Guleed to get back on track.

"It'll probably need coordination with Operation Carthorse" added Guleed, while Seawoll looked pained that the topic of his former bright star of policing had to be brought up even in such a roundabout way. "He might send her instead, after all."

"I can see the planning for this will take a while" said Nightingale airily. "Do we need to get a gallon of coffee in for you, Alexander?"

And so, with much sniping, we settled in to planning out the fine detail. I hoped Chorley appreciated the effort we were going to on his behalf.


	5. Chapter 5

Chorley fell for it hook, line and sinker.

At least, we thought he fell for it until he got to the meeting spot, and it turned out he brought Lesley along as backup, but hey, good luck can only stretch so far.

The guy we were using as bait for trapping ethically-challenged magicians was in fact one of Chorley's old Little Crocodile chums, Richard Smythe, who read Classics, had a side job dealing antique weapons and documentation, and had turned out in our investigations to have experimented with magical methods of forging historical documents. He hadn't got far enough to prosecute, but it was enough to put the fear of the Met into him and he was quite willing to help us in putting Chorley away. Apparently he could always tell Chorley was a weirdo who was up to no good, from the instant he found out about the cat people and murder (suitably backdated to the instant they met).

He was a broker in the London insurance market and so the meeting place arranged was a pub near Leadenhall Street and Fenchurch Street, where the Lloyds syndicate and the London Market have most of their trading floors. I strongly vetoed the use of the Sky Garden restaurant/high end boozer first suggested (which for the interested is at the top of a quirky office block known as the Walkie-talkie that when it was built won the award for worst new build in the UK, the Carbuncle Award), because I am not that fond of irony and also because it is very high up, very expensive, and very hard to evacuate should something go wrong. Since Chorley knew our faces, and where applicable our Signare, we had Smythe wear a mic with the plan to slip in on cue or if the electronics failed. We'd have to pretend to arrest Smythe too for verisimilitude, but we were clearing that with the relevant people as necessary for witness protection.

"Rick, how nice to see you again!" Chorley's voice came over the mic. "I do hope you know what you're talking about on this one, the Purduy last year was in much worse condition than advertised." Rick, I noted. Not a last name, as is so common at the posh established schools they would have grown up with, but first name. A nickname, no less. Close familiarity needing further investigation, or power play? 

"I promise, this one is exactly as advertised, as you can see…"

The whisper of a blade unsheathing an inch or so came over the com, which cut out right on cue. I went in one side of the pub as Nightingale went in the other, and yelled "Police! Everybody out!"

… because I always wanted to do that, that's why. It was like being in a cop show on TV, instead of the vomit-and-spit roulette of your regular working copper. Let me have my moment! Also it handily evacuated everyone who wasn't about to be put in handcuffs. Guleed and Seawoll's people bustled in directing the flow of milling people to the exits, Guleed incidentally handcuffing and removing Smythe while murmuring something which sounded like the standard caution below the din. I snagged the sword and scabbard, unnoticed in the bustle.

Chorley wasn't going to go quietly; he cast some forma I'd never come across which smelled like rot, and the floorboards gave way under us like they'd had a century of damp building up and then had a heavy lorry driven over them. I heard the crack of breaking bone from Nightingale's direction even as he cast Impello at Chorley's shoes to stop him escaping, which I noted for future reference. I stepped forward to make the arrest, but Chorley had obviously thought ahead because at that point Lesley clattered down from upstairs slinging a spell randomly into the room which hit me with no effect but rebounded and turned a chair near me to a desiccated husk.

I hesitated, unsure who to go after, but Guleed stepped in and slipped the magic-blocking cuffs from Nightingale, who was chalk-white and aiming squib-skinny grenades and water-bomb spells at Lesley for fear of setting a fire, obviously struggling to do anything but lie on the floor - there was a bulge where bone should not bend in his lower leg, and a bruise was already spreading around it. Decision made, I darted after Lesley whose gaze had flitted between me and Nightingale and obviously decided not to risk taking on both of us alone.

Nightingale would have trouble running, so I set off after Lesley alone. She jinked through several alleyways and round the block, sending spells to hit me at intervals with no effect, and I kept up a fair way, but I lost her in the crowds around the Lloyds building. I returned to the others, dejected, to find that Nightingale and Guleed had arrested Chorley between them. There wasn't much left to do but wait for the ambulance for Nightingale while Seawoll and Guleed went back to Belgravia and started questioning Chorley on the mundane aspects of his crimes, which were both admissible in court and well-documented enough to stick even to white, rich men.

All in all, not a bad Quest, I thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excalibur's scabbard is also magical, protecting the wearer from harm. Arthur didn't wear it at Camlann, which is why he was mortally injured, but I'm not sure why.
> 
> I may or may not do an epilogue some day where Peter hands the sword and scabbard back. I assume he takes it to Nicky and very firmly tells her he's done what he needed to with it, now please give it back to Brue right now. Beverley glares over his shoulder until Nicky does as she's told through the power of sisterly guilt trips.
> 
> I was grasping around for a way to implement the bait, when a course at work gifted me the knowledge that Skygarden exists as a high-end restaurant for brokers at the top of the Walkie-Talkie building, so I had to include it somehow. You get the results of my homework. I'll leave some notes below for further information and to give a starting place so you can look things up if you want.
> 
> The Walkie-Talkie is one of the major buildings housing the London Market of insurance companies, and is shaped to allow more office space near the top, which is at a premium. This has the effect of creating a wind-tunnel in nearby streets and making the building extremely ugly to boot.
> 
> The London Market, which is mostly UK-focused, is different from the Lloyds Market, which deals with a very large chunk of the international insurance market including foreign government projects such as NASA and grew from a betting ring in the Lloyds Coffee House concerning ships and their cargoes. It covers Marine, Aviation, Motor, and "Non Marine" which is mostly long term risks, and is run by syndicates which are basically pots of money run by managing agent companies ("Numbers", as each is given a registration number). Until the early 1990s they were run by "Names", individuals who invested several million pounds into a syndicate, but there were several catastrophes (Exxon Valdez, Zeebrugge, the discovery of Asbestosis) which, since the Names had unlimited liability for paying claims, rendered several very rich people bankrupt. Chorley would have been a Name were he active in insurance then, I feel.
> 
> Purduy is a make of gun which in the shooting world is as Ferrari or Lamborghini is to the car world. They can be insured for hundreds of thousands of pounds. Basically Chorley is complaining that his sports car didn't have as many extra features and individual styling options as he was led to believe.


End file.
